The Delinquent Daughter
by Zipmyheart
Summary: As per Tumblr's wishes: Imagine Sherlock with a teenage daughter. "Dad, this is-" "A boy who was clearly hoping to shag you tonight, judging by the tin of mints and packet of condoms in his pockets. Next!" oh god Daddy Sherlock. The teenage male population would be frightened for their life. Don't even mention Uncle Mycroft Give me this fic. I demand it immediately.
1. Chapter 1

_"Well you're dressed up for a visit to little old me." Sherlock commented, immediately recognizing the evening dress of the husband and wife before him. _

_"Yes, well we're not all visiting, are we?" John chuckled. Sherlock's forehead immediately wrinkled and he frowned. John paled. "You're not serious are you? We asked if Jack could visit with you for a little while."_

_"If Jack could…" Sherlock immediately thought back to the brief phone conversation. At the time, he had been trying to finish off a murder case and also more than a little irritated that his brother was sitting there in the room with him sipping tea, so he had failed to pay much thought to John's asking to pay a visit. "You want _me_ to babysit?"_

_Mary smiled and rested her hand on top of John's left, which held the baby seat and carrier. _

_"There's no one else we'd rather trust, dear. You're very observant and on top of everything."_

_Sherlock looked at her incredulously and peaked into the carrier._

_"He's learned to drool a lot more, his diaper's wet, he's starting to get hungry, and he's going to wake up any minute because his father is shaking his carrier too much." He looked back up at his two…friends. His former flatmate looked a little taken aback, but recovered quickly, steadying his tiring arm._

_"Oh, Sherlock, it's only for a little while." Mary chuckled._

_"I—but you're changing the diaper." _

_John smiled happily and set the baby down on the floor before going to "get some more things." Mary set a large bag down and quickly took the infant out in order to change his diaper. The baby reacted in no time with a long, high pitched wail. _

_"Make it stop!" _

_"Sherlock, he's just a baby and we've just woken him up in a new place."_

_"New?! He's been here before! It's hardly new!"_

_"He doesn't live here."_

_"Well can't he just be quiet?" His question was ignored as Mary cleaned her son up and lifted him into her arms before wrapping up his changing pad and the rest of his things. _

_"Here's a little pen for him to rest in, if he falls asleep again before we get back." John set a larger, rectangular, blue, square bag on the ground next to the carrier. _

_"His bottles are in the bag, make sure to warm them up a little before you give them to him. They're in a cooler. The burp clothe is with it, be sure to burp him before you let him down or he'll colic."_

_"Why would you put them in a cooler if you're just going to—"_

_"His pacifier is in the bag as well, there are two. If he drops one, you have to sanitize it before you give it to him. So just give him the other one. Don't let him have it for too long, it's a bad habit. His diapers, wipes, changing pad, and spare clothes are in the bag as well." Mary smiled. Most mothers were nervous the first time they left their baby with someone other than themselves, but Sherlock was different and he was going to do just fine._

_"What if I run out of milk. Is there someone from which I can get more?" His tone was entirely serious, and he was looking at the eerily calm baby who'd taken to pulling at his mother's shirt._

_"What?" John asked, his face all scrunched into a look of utter horror and confusion._

_"Well it's not like I can produce milk to feed young offspring. Where do I get more from? The hospital? The whorehouse down the road? Should I call—"_

_"You're not serious?" Mary was laughing as John practically ripped his hair out. "For being the most intelligent man I know, you're really stupid."_

_"It's an honest question!"_

_"No, no it's not. You're trying to ruin our night with your silliness because you don't want to have to deal with taking care of another human being. Get used to it Sherlock, this is the real world!"_

_"John!" Mary tried to scold him, but she was smiling nonetheless._

_"He's not my child, I hardly know what to do with him—"_

_"Well, figure it out." _

_Sherlock's bright blue eyes widened as Mary passed him the baby, still clinging to her shirt. She slowly and gently peeled his fingers off before kissing him on the forehead. The baby cooed before falling quiet in Sherlock's unfamiliar, tense arms._

_"You know our numbers if you need anything, just ring." She gave him a small, parting smile and John nodded. _

_"Thank you, Sherlock."_

_Sherlock nodded, unable to speak, a million thoughts racing in his mind before—SHRIEK!_

_And the baby was screaming again at the sound of the closing door._

* * *

><p>The stairs were dark and all was quiet as a shadowy figure ascended the stairs to the flat. Something was hidden in her hand and she tiptoed with great care, just barely making it to the door at the top before there was a loud buzzing and the object in her hands lit up to illuminate her face.<p>

"You should have put it on silent, that's a green mistake." The lights flickered on.

She jumped and turned around, face-to-face with another figure, this one much taller that she. Stern anger met the gaze of pure terror as blue eyes met blue. Both the man and the adolescent girl sported dark, curly hair, the man's slowly graying with age and stress and far shorter than hers—though still brushing past his ears even in his age.

"D-d-dad." The girl pressed her back against the door nervously.

"You're getting sloppy, Molly." There was a moment of silence. "Get inside. Now."

The girl spun around and scrambled with the key in the lock, only to find it was open. Quickly, she jumped inside.

"What were you thinking? Sneaking out? As if I couldn't find you!"

"Well go on then! You didn't!" Molly defied, obviously still scared as a wet, baby kitten, but ever stubborn. "You didn't find me. You'd known I stepped out, and that's all."

"That's all? You put the address into your cellphone, Molly. I found you in a heartbeat. You're still logged into your maps on your laptop and I no more than had to look at recent destinations. Conveniently, it even gives your search time." He smirked, arms crossed. "What. Were. You. Thinking?"

"I wanted to go out!"

"You didn't ask?"

"I thought you'd say no!" She countered quickly.

"Why would I say no? It's a Friday, no classes tomorrow. Your violin lesson has been cancelled, so you can sleep in until far beyond noon. You went to Matty's house, she's a nice girl, right?" He had his back turned, mid-pace. "Except of course," He turned back around, "I did forget the detail that her parents are on holiday, she's been left with her older brother—he's in University now—there were drugs, drinking, and dancing involved with boys your age and older, and—"

"Dad, I'm old enough to drink—"

"You will never be old enough to do illegal drugs." The man snapped. "And you certainly aren't old enough for whatever has twisted your bra strap in the back. Fix it, it's bothering me and I hardly needed to find out that way."

"I wasn't having sex, da. Matty just jokingly unhooked it. It's fine, ok? I put it back on without taking my shirt of and moved on with my life, I didn't notice."

He kept his mouth in a firm line. "Go to bed."

"Ok, ok!" She hurried towards her room.

"No, you're sleeping on the floor in mine. I won't be letting you disappear again."

"You're just angry I got out and you didn't realize it." She accused.

"I am angry, Molly," The man spoke through gritted teeth, "Because you lied and went somewhere without my permission."

"I don't need your permission, da. I'm perfectly—"

"If you didn't need it, you hardly would have snuck out. You're staying with me, that's final." He faced the door, meaning his back was turned to her. His hands were in fists at his sides, head down.

"Is this what you did to mom?" His head lifted, but he didn't turn. "Is that why she left? You made her stay—"

"That woman is a felonious whore who makes her money through fear, domination, manipulation, and _sex_!" He roared, having had enough teenage angst for the night. Even still, through the anger, there was a pang of anguish and a flash of hurt in his eyes.

"She's the only one _you've _ever loved."

"She was also smart, clever, cunning, witty—"

"—Sexy," Molly snorted, making a mockery of her own father.

"And yes, I might have loved her." He snapped, cutting her off. "Get changed and wash up. You've been set up in my room."

* * *

><p><em>"She toyed with you. She manipulated you, Sherlock." John shouted, standing up. "And you <em>let _her!"_

_"John, please!" His best friend was up and pacing, pulling at his medium-length, dark curls. His voice was raw, his eyes were red and tears stained his cheeks. "Please."_

_John opened his mouth to speak, but instead released a surprised shout of "oi!" as Sherlock collapsed at his feet. He had never seen him so upset, never seen him in such a state of panic and distress._

_"I love her, please." He begged._

_"Ok, ok, you _love _her. That doesn't make this ok, Sherlock."_

_"She can't, she can't do this—not to me."_

_"Has it ever gone through your, pardon, bloody brilliant mind or holidayed through your 'thought castle'—or whatever you want to call it—that she has no more love for you than your brother does for mankind? Or that she's manipulating you again, just to watch you suffer?" The words were still harsh and he presented them with the tone to match._

_They were deemed useless, however, and the begging, pleading, and crying continued—more loudly now. _

_"John, please, you value life more than I do. Please."_

_"Oh, good, and now you're manipulating me." He threw his hands up in the air, thoroughly exasperated._

_"Please, stop her. Please, she can't do this. She can't do this to me."_

_"How do you suppose I do that? Who's to say she'll even come to the hospital, Sherlock. There's plenty of people she can go to, plenty of underground surgeons—"_

_"Her body is her work, it's her living. She can't take a risk like that. Please." The man at his feet was choking back the sobs that visibly wracked his body, but he was hardly going to relent in his plea. "John, you have to."_

_"Who's going to take care of it then? You're still scared of Jack, two years later."_

_Sherlock's eyes met his, a glimmer of hope now shining in them._

_"I'm not taking in your bastard child, Sherlock. You are not my troubled, adolescent son, despite your behaviour." John snapped._

_Sherlock's face paled further._

_"So what do you want to do then? I can try to save the kid—"_

_"My kid."_

_"Right, _your _kid. I can try to save it, but I am sorry that I can't promise anything and I certainly cannot and will not take your child into my home." His gaze had softened to being genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, you're my best friend. I can't take another kid in with everything going on in my family's life right now."_

"I-I-I-I'll do it." _ Sherlock finally stammered out, his head spinning. Thoughts were running more wildly through his head than the day John asked him to be his best man, more wildly than the day…_

_Than the day The Woman came back for a visit._

"I'll do it, it's my kid. It's my fault. I can do it. I can do it."_ He sounded like he was coaching himself through the decision, and in a way he was._

_John sighed, kneeling beside the other man on the floor. Sherlock was green in the face, feeling just dizzy and scared enough to vomit the food he hadn't had the guts to eat in the first place._

"I'm going to be sick…but I can do it…"

_"Sherlock, I need an answer right now." _

**_He hadn't said any of it out loud._**


	2. Chapter 2

"Molly, we need to talk." Sherlock was sitting in an armchair, waiting for his daughter to emerge from her room. He had heard her move out of his and into hers, previously John's. "About this behaviour."

"Uncle Mycroft says you've done drugs." His daughter called from the bedroom.

"Ah, has he?" Sherlock grew irritated, head in his hands. "What else has your dear uncle told you?"

"That you're babying me and you need to prepare me for the real world." She had come into the parlour-like room. "That you need to teach me real life skills."

"Oh such as what? How to escape without being seen? How to manipulate people? How to be incredibly antisocial and disruptive-"

"Uncle Mycroft is hardly antisocial. He runs a lot of things! He has to work with a lot of people!"

"Goldfish," Sherlock snorted. "He considers them all goldfish. They hold no more interest to him than American Football does to any of us."

"That's not true! He's interested in me!" Molly protested. Her uncle was the only one who was always there. Her uncle was always looking out for her. He and her "Aunt" Mary were the greatest people in her life. While her father seemed to always be out, always letting strange people into the flat for his stupid job as consulting detective, never paying any attention-they paid attention. Sometimes her uncle paid too much attention, but it was attention. Her father only paid attention when she was misbehaving, or when she was hiding something, or when he wanted to prove how much smarter than her he was.

She had watched an American show a few times, terrible though it sometimes seemed to be, called Psych. It was reruns and they were only online, but she felt exactly like the main character sometimes. His father was always testing him, always proving he was smarter, always putting him down, always quizzing him.

"Your uncle is less capable of emotion than I am." Sherlock's eyes rolled. "But he's ever the clever pretender. He doesn't find you any more interesting than a science experiment."

"That's not true!"

"Molly, look at me. Am I lying?"

She was readying to scream, pull out her hair punch her "father" in the face.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

"Molly, look at me. Look at me, am I lying to you?" His blue eyes met his mirror images. It was a pity he'd raised her to think she was normal. The reason she was such an experiment to her uncle was because he knew she was going to snap, stop pretending she was something she wasn't. She was the daughter of two completely manipulative sociopaths. There was no way in hell she was a normal girl. And her father was entirely aware of that fact, and so was everyone around her-whether or not she was awake enough to recognize it.

But she was getting bored of it all, of the act. He could tell. That's why she had started sneaking out, yelling, questioning, throwing things, two weeks prior to last nights escapade she had thoroughly convinced John she was sick in the head when he'd come home to his medical books scattered through his study and her asleep amongst the rubble.

"Stop testing me! That's all you ever do! Question! Test! Judge!" She screeched, stomping her foot like a child. Her father had to chuckle, shaking his head.

"You do that, too."

"No! I don't! You're such a freak!"

"You lie to your friends' faces when you go out with them." Sherlock was genuinely amused, and had not yet realized it was time to stop pushing.

"I do not." She hissed and crossed her arms.

_Spoiled._

He'd spoiled her.

He'd let her get away with everything.

"I can't believe you! You're supposed to be my father! You're pushing everyone away from me! You're pushing me away from everyone!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as she stormed out of the flat, no doubt on her way to be picked up by her uncle—since he seemed to lack anything else to do for his job. He, himself, picked up the phone to call John.

* * *

><p><em>"You were drugged?" Mary gasped. "Sherlock!"<em>

_"Oh, don't be that way, Mary." John groaned. "He let her drug him."_

_"It's men like you," Mary scolded, "Who completely and utterly disgust women. Sherlock was raped, have a little more respect." She wasn't angry, but she knew why her husband was. _

_John looked about ready to disagree, but kept his mouth shut, ever wise._

_"I don't know what happened, Mary." Sherlock was still an emotional wreck. "I don't know, but one moment I was alone—and then she was there. She—" His throat closed up. "I don't remember." It was a complete and utter lie, he was fully aware of everything that happened. He remembered taking a drink, knowing she'd touched it but doubting his own thoughts. Who was this woman to make him doubt his judgement? She certainly was not Mycroft, always criticizing. _

_He remembered waking up to her face leaning over his, her body over his own, naked body. _

_He remembered the odd sensations, but he didn't want to think about it._

_For the first time, Sherlock Holmes hated his gifted memory. Whether it was for utter disgust and disinterest in the activity that had taken place that day or for his confused feelings towards The Woman, he hadn't a clue. _

_He just wished to forget._

_"And now she—"_

_Sherlock nodded, face pale, no ability to speak even still. _

_"That's horrible." Mary gasped. "Oh, Sherlock. John, why don't you fetch him a cup of tea? Sherlock, sit down. Right here, on the couch. Nice, deep breaths. Close your eyes, rest your mind."_

_For all of the brains and wits his former flatmate's wife had, she sometimes forgot that Sherlock's mind couldn't rest, or he might seizure from pure, uninterrupted boredom. But, she sat him down nonetheless and tried to calm him the best she could._

_"I'm sure that this is all going to work out, Sherlock. And maybe Mycroft can find a home for the baby and keep tabs on the house and family and keep you updated." Assuming he wanted nothing to do with the baby other than knowing the child would be safe, Mary had spoken. The look on Sherlock's face at her words made her realize she was wrong. "You want to take the baby in?"_

_"I…I don't…I have no clue." _

_"Sherlock, this is a _very _big responsibility. You need to recognize that before you go running off to take in a child."_

_"What if it's like him. It'll be two children in a household until it moves out." John tried to lighten the mood a bit._

_"It's my child…" Sherlock trailed off, dazed._

_"That honestly scares me." John commented, sitting down on the other side of his friend. "Three of you, here in London."_

_"Sherlock, you need to think this through." Mary sighed._

_"I…I'm scared." And he was crying again._

_"So much for sociopath." John muttered quietly, patting the man on the back and looking over the huddled figure at his wife._

_She shot him a look in return and looked back down at Sherlock._

_"I know, I know."_

* * *

><p>"Who's the boy at the door, Molly?" Sherlock called from the little kitchen where he was preparing a specific science experiment involving a kidney, and eyeball, and a thumb…and maybe a creme brûlée torch.<p>

"It's not a boy, da." The girl called back. "Sorry about him." The apology was directed at the six foot tall boy in the doorway of the room. His messy red hair was tousled all over his freckled, pale face. Green eyes shown out through the shadow his hair cast and he flashed a brilliantly white smile, keeping absolutely quiet.

"Yes it is, I see the shadow. Why don't you introduce us?"

Molly's face fell and she drew in a deep breath before motioning for the boy to follow her.

"This is Justin." She said quickly, wishing to get this over with.

"It's very nice to meet you Mr. Holmes." The boy extended a hand.

"Get that filthy hand away from me." He turned back to his brûlée-ing eyeball. The boy looked startled.

Molly tried to chuckle.

"Sorry, he gets like that with his experiments—"

"Does your mother know who you're bringing to that house when she's out?" Sherlock spun back around, locking his eyes on the young teen's green ones. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I just really didn't want to touch your hands. For all I know, I have an open wound and I'm going to contract an STD from those disgusting little fingers. I don't get the fascination with…that."

"Da, stop!" Molly shrieked, eyes wide.

"I'm only noting the obvious, Molly. It really would not kill you to do the same." Sherlock frowned. "He likes…things. There's makeup on his collar, a girl could have rubbed it off onto his shirt, it could be yours—it's pale. But, it's on the inside of his collar and it matches his skin as well. There's a tiny patch on the visible part of his neck that looks like someone's gone over it with spackle. He's been…_snogging _with someone. I doubt it's you, he obviously hardly knows you or he'd know you're an awful prude—even when you're drunk."

His daughter made a noise of terror which matched the horrified look in Justin's eyes.

"He smells…badly and his fingernails on his right hand have two that've been hastily chewed off." Sherlock continued, without noticing or caring about the thoughts of the two teenagers in the room. "He's wearing boxer briefs, not that it matters, I just wanted to point that out because his pants are much too tight and you can see the lines. He's crossing his arms now because he's got claw marks down his chest—no, actually they're down his back. They're not from his pussycat, or maybe they are. It certainly depends on how you put it, but that puts him in the front-to-front position. I hope you didn't get her pregnant, _Justin_, I've been there."

There was a pause as he poked at the liver with a fork.

"I'm sorry, Justin. Molly is actually much too occupied with homework tonight to be able to keep you company while your dear mother is out."

Justin stood there for a moment, mouth agape, before turning to Molly and wishing her a hurried "good-bye" before running out the door.

"It's for the better, really. Look at his butt. There's a whole pack of those..._rubbers_." He sounded disgusted by the thought. "And let's not forget the mint gum he's chewing. I mean really."

Molly stared at her father, pale as a sheet.

"I am not a _prude_."

"Well, you certainly haven't, what do kids say now?" Truth be told, he hadn't a clue what kids said when he was her age.

"I'm _not _a _prude _because of it!"

"No you just don't find interest in it." He shrugged.

"That's not true." She denied, feeling a little confused and drained from the sudden turn the night had taken.

"Isn't it?"

She looked as if she were about to say something, and changed her mind.

"I'm going to see Jack."

"That's a good idea."


	3. Chapter 3

_"Daddy, one day I'm going to marry Jack." A little girl with curly brown locks and pink flushed dimples looked up at her father with wide, blue eyes._

_"Oh," The man paused for a moment, taking it in. "Will you?"_

_"Oh, yes."_

_"Do you love him?" He questioned curiously, sitting down next to where his young daughter stood, fiddling with her pretty little Easter dress. It was a sailor pattern, blue and white colour-scheme and she had small white "heels," short white gloves, a straw hat, and pretty, lacy white socks. _

_"What?" She wasn't paying attention. _

_"Do you love Jack?"_

_"No." She answered simply, moving to play with his fingers._

_"Then why do you want to marry him?"_

_"Because that's what people do." She shrugged. _

_"Grammy wants your help with the flowers on the table, Molly." Another man's shadow fell across the pair. Molly looked up and smiled with a little wave before running off. "She's an angel, isn't she?"_

_"Yeah." Sherlock watched after his little daughter._

_"What'd she want?"_

_"To announce that she's marrying John's son." Sherlock had to chuckle a little. "Because it's what people do."_

_"You've trained her into a goldfish." Mycroft sighed. "A beautiful dolphin."_

_"Beautiful." Sherlock snorted and looked up at him. "You don't find anything _beautiful. _Much less intelligent."_

_Mycroft flashed a wicked smile and snorted. _

_"She'll turn into her mother."_

_"No." Sherlock growled. "She won't."_

_His older brother shrugged and Sherlock stood up. _

_"Don't you dare say that. She won't." He snapped. "She's my daughter."_

_"Don't be so selfish, Sherlock." Mycroft chuckled. "It takes two."_

_This is what he got for falling for his mother's stupid wishes to have Easter as a family. She was just so thrilled, so utterly thrilled to have a granddaughter to "spoil" and "pamper," that she was asking for new, _emotionally taxing _ways to spend time together. There was only so much love he could fake. _

_"The last time there were three of us together in a room—"_

_"Let's not dwell on it."_

* * *

><p>I can't take this anymore. I can't.<p>

Molly was practically pulling her hair out. Her mind was going crazy.

"Molly…" Jack had entered his bedroom with a tray of tea. His mother was fine with them staying up there, so long as he kept the door wide open.

She looked up.

"Maybe your dad's right…" He started. "Molly, it's genetic…"

"I'm not like that. I'm not like him I swear." She pleaded.

"You're doing it again." He warned softly. Setting the tray down, he sat next to her and held her against him. "People don't like it when you hold their eye contact."

"What am I supposed to do?"

He laughed quietly and shook his head, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head. They sat there in silence for a few minutes.

"I'm not a prude."

His laughter became louder, fuller, and he would have fallen over if she hadn't been in his grasp. She glared at him.

"Oh come off it, Molly. It doesn't matter, does it?" He was still grinning. "It's just your dad being silly."

"I'm not a prude! I just…I just haven't found anyone I want like that."

"Of course." He agreed seriously, still with a silly smile plastered to his face. "But really, does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" She crawled away from him and crossed her arms, staring him straight in the eyes again.

"Why does it matter if you're a prude?"

"Because I'm going to prove him wrong."

"And how do you suppose you do that?" He rolled his eyes playfully. She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Molly." He sighed.

"You've gone and done it."

"Yes, but not with you. We've grown up together, Molly…our dads our partners against crime…we can't just…my mum's downstairs."

She cocked her head to the side.

"I'm not going to…no! No, Molly!" He denied, shaking his head. She pouted and moved her hand onto his knee. "Oh for God's sake! No!"

"Please, Jack?" She whined.

"Molly…"

* * *

><p>"They did <em>what<em>?!" John roared into the phone.

Sherlock spun around, surprised at the sudden outburst. John was staring straight at him, pure anger painted on his face.

"We'll be back. Soon." He hung up and stormed over to his friend, finger jabbing the taller man right in the center of the chest. "Your daughter—"

"Oh, I rather hoped she wouldn't." Sherlock already knew where the sentence was going, and his face suddenly looked tired.

"You need to get her seen by someone."

"You know what this is as well as I do."

"If she turns out to be like her mother." John was fuming. He wasn't upset about his son, in fact he was more than positive this wasn't his son's first experience with anything. The boy was old enough to have moved out. In fact, he would have been if he wasn't going to University so close. "I wish that woman was dead. As dead as Mycroft said she was. But you had to get your nose involved."

"She loved me." Sherlock winced.

"No. _You_ loved _her_." John corrected. "_All the signs are there._"

"Her heart raced, her pupils dilated—"

"She was _fascinated _by you, Sherlock. Just as fascinated and obsessed as _you still are _and she went and left you with a child for all of your help. Now, almost nineteen years later, she's a train wreck because you let her try to be normal."

"She's doing quite well—"

Sherlock was following John down the stairs from the location of their latest investigation. It was a small flat above a little cafe where some sort of animal had mauled an old woman. Interesting as the case sounded, the answer had been simple. The woman had been mauled by the neighboring building's medium terrier when he climbed through the air vent that was connected through four buildings on the block. This had all taken place post-mortem.

"No. She's not and she has you and Mycroft egging her on in completely different directions. One second you're happy with her pretending, and the next you want her to be a mini you. Well, Sherlock, she's become a little Irene. I hope you're happy."

Sherlock swallowed as they climbed into a cab. John snapped the address before turning to Sherlock.

"She needs help."

"Ok." He shrugged it off, wishing to get off of the subject.

A sociopath helping a crazy sociopath. Good, sounds marvelous.

* * *

><p>"Dad," Jack spoke up when the other family had left. His father was obviously flustered.<p>

"Yeah?" John turned around quickly.

"She…I'm sorry." He sighed. "I know it's wrong to do that to her. I just—"

"No, it's fine." John sighed, too and walked over to sit beside him on the bed. "Why don't you explain?"

"She was just…upset? Angry? About her dad…and I felt bad. I made her tea and I tried to cheer her up." He shrugged. "She was upset that he called her a prude."

"Because it's a blemish to her, yes. People like her don't like those." John nodded.

"And she really wanted to prove him otherwise…I told her no but…I gave in." He looked more than a little frazzled.

"Why'd you give in?"

"The things she was saying." He sighed, his head falling into his hands. He let out a larger sigh than before and stayed there, completely still.

"What?"

"Dad, I love her."

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, dad."<p>

"No you're not, sit down." Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "On the chair right there."

She did as she was told, wanting to avoid more trouble this time.

"You're not sorry, ok? Don't ever lie, I can tell when you are. Don't." He remained standing, pacing. "You're sorry you were caught, that this is another blemish on your college record. However, you are not sorry."

"I am!"

"You are not! For God's sake, Molly Mae Holmes, you are not sorry. _" Sherlock snapped. "You're a sociopath."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN- Oh wow! So many follows and favourites already xD I didn't think that'd actually happen!**

**I also got 5 reviews, and in true spirit of Fanfiction I will reply :p**

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**Diamondgirl3 - You're welcome! :) I'm glad you're excited!**

**twihardgleek20 - Thank you, I do try! It'll be a little less... "blah" next chapter. I needed a little more foundation for this. :)**

**iTorchic - Hi! :) I do hope you're enjoying it! You're one of my muses if you're the second post on that :p**

**So yes! Do review! I quite enjoy the attention! :p And I'll reply and it does make me happy! Plus this was a story begun by the people, so I'd love to see how it ends!**

**I'm Tumblr user zipmyheart! :) I should have introduced myself, but I tend to forget the formalities :p**


	4. Chapter 4

_"Mary, I don't like how close they are." John admitted, looking on at his own ten year-old son who was wrapped around the hardly visible figure of his prior flatmate's eight year-old daughter. "It's not normal."_

_"Oh, relax." Mary whispered. "And lower your voice, dear. They're sleeping."_

_"How can I relax?" He crossed his arms. "I told him we wouldn't take her in and we've basically gone and done it. She's here every day after school! And now they're—what even is that? They're far too old for it!"_

_"It's late, John." Mary soothed, "And Sherlock is very good about picking her up before bedtime. But the both of you were out late and I texted him to say she could stay. You know that."_

_"Starting today, they're separated for bedtime." He snapped._

_Mary chuckled to herself as he stormed off. _

_"Yes. Separated for bed time."_

* * *

><p>Sherlock watched his daughter carefully, gauging her reaction by her body language. He squinted as she held his eye contact, eerily calm.<p>

"I'm not you."

"No. I'm high functioning." He grinned. "You're certainly not."

"So what do you say I am, then, da?"

"Messed up in the head." He chuckled to himself. "You just had almost-relations with your best friend Jack—for no reason other than to do it, I should add. Like his father that one, addicted to danger. Though, considering his mother and father I guess I should hardly be surprised."

"What has—what?" Molly crinkled her nose.

"Spitting image, like looking in a mirror!" Sherlock kissed her forehead. "Get to bed, I would recommend not leaving tonight. Tomorrow you get to meet your first shrink. You are going to love it."

"I'm _fine_!"

"Hardly!" He smiled happily. "Off to bed!"

* * *

><p>"Jack, how are you feeling?" A woman asked. Her hair was obviously dyed blonde, she was certainly at the age of greying at the very least.<p>

The blonde teenager looked up at his mother as he approached the breakfast table where a cup of tea waited for him. There were dark bags under his eyes and his face looked pale.

"Dad's mad."

"Your father is a little angry." She agreed. "But he forgives easily, that's just how he is. Don't worry." She smiled encouragingly and held his chair out for him.

"Mum," He started, a little nervously, as he sat in his place. "You…do you think…she's…she's not like her da is she?" The insinuation wasn't lost on the older woman, she had known Sherlock for many years, helped raise his daughter, and he had helped her through some very rough places and times. She gave her son a sad smile. He groaned.

"You're like your father." She patted him on the back.

"Mum, you're not helping." Neither he nor Molly had ever been told of the things that had happened before they were born, Molly wasn't even aware of who her mother was, let alone what she did.

"I'm sorry, Jack." She shook her head. "Molly is a lovely girl. She's usually very honest—"

"—Or lying every second of the day." John walked into the kitchen. "She's unstable right now. Her father is taking her to a hospital."

"He is not!" Mary gasped. "Sherlock? No…"

"He is, he just gave me a ring. He's taking her to talk with someone." His son and wife stared at him, utterly stupefied. "She's convinced herself this long that she's fine. It's his fault, he encouraged it. It's about time he fixed it."

He locked eyes with Mary and sighed. Truth be told, they both loved Molly as if she were their own. Sherlock was John's best friend and it was only out of friendship that he'd even allowed his wife to help him care for the girl in the first place.

"Where are you going?" Mary spun around to see Jack gathering his things.

"I have to go see her."

Mary hid her smile as he practically ran out the door.

"When is he going to realize that girl will never love him back?"

"I don't know, John." Mary shook her head. "Sherlock certainly cares for you."

"Because it's convenient for him to." He shook his head. "You don't remember when he proposed to break into an office."

"I don't think that's a day I'll ever forget." Mary chuckled wryly.

John snorted and nodded.

"Maybe she'll surprise you." Mary shrugged. "Or maybe she just needs a friend. Either way, no one deserves to be alone."

"Unless they want to be."

* * *

><p>"What's the word?" Mycroft asked his brother as they sat in the waiting room patiently.<p>

"None yet, she hasn't come back."

"Ah."

There was silence for a little while and the frown that had appeared on Sherlock's face slowly deepened and his forehead creased.

"If this is some ridiculous way of showing you care about me and Molly—"

"Ridiculous?" Mycroft laughed. "I'm sorry, dear brother, if you think my attempts at being kind are ridiculous. I'm not you, learning the ways that they work."

"_They_," Sherlock scoffed. "You mean normal people?"

"Maybe."

Sherlock nodded.

"Maybe you should get her a dog." The older man patted his baby brother on the shoulder as he passed on his way back out the door. "It did wonders on you."

Sherlock ignored him cooly as he left and as soon as he heard the door, his eyes started to water.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - **

**OneCutePug: Awe yay! Well I hope you enjoy! :)**

**Diamondgirl3: Well...girls just wanna have fun I guess? Idk...I was bored. Had to do something interesting :p and I can't go killing off main characters...**

**gus'hazelgrace: emotions...the death of everyone. Actually, you know what's crazy? Being an introvert and writing about someone who has a personality disorder that is SO close to your own personality in general xD it's like...wow. Glad I'm not you.**

**On the other hand, I can't make any promises on that...**

**strawberryfruitsnax: Awe yay! I'm actually genuinely flattered!**

**Guest: SO HAPPY YOUVE TAKEN TIME TO COMMENT! :D Thank you!**

**Imp97: nope, no she wont and thanks :p**

**Yolt'sthatonegirlnamedbianca: Well obviously both is true. ;) I mean what else is Mary gonna do, she encourages everyone! And yeah...Molly is...erm...special.**

**But actually, guys, what I said about being an introvert is so true. Literally everyone thinks your antisocial and there's this whole chain that ultimately leads to psychopath and ah, everyone just assumes. But you do have a lot of time to think...and pretend you're totally outgoing and then overexert and exhaust yourself and get cranky xD so that part is from experience.**

**:p I hope you all enjoy! THANK YOU ALL for reviews and follows and etc. I love ya! :) Please continue, especially with the reviews! They make me happy!**


	5. Chapter 5

_"Redbeard, come here, boy!" A young boy with tightly wound, curly locks was grinning at a large setter, patting his thighs. "Yeah, come here, boy!"_

_"Sherlock, come in. It's time for dinner!"_

_"Wait, mum!" The young Sherlock called back over his shoulder. "Come on, boy!"_

_"Sherlock, would you stop playing with that dumb animal, I'm hungry and mummy is making us wait for you." His older brother complained from the door. Sherlock's face fell and he turned resort under nervously._

_"S-sorry, Mycroft."_

_"Mikey, don't upset your brother like that, he's younger than you!" Their mother warned from her place back in the kitchen._

_"You're so stupid, always hanging out with that dumb dog of yours. People don't do that sort of thing." The older boy sneered._

_"I am not stupid!" The other boy screeched, stomping his foot on the muddy ground. Redbeard, who had been content with playing happily with his stick looked up at his boy. "You're stupid! That's why Redbeard doesn't like you! You-you're too stupid!"_

_"I'm too stupid for a dog?" Mycroft laughed. "You're the dumb one, Sherlock. Even mum says so!"_

_"She does not!"_

_"Does too! Why don't you ask her?"_

_Sherlock looked about ready to cry, tears were forming in his eyes. The dog whined and stood up._

_"Boys stop fighting and come to supper."_

_Mycroft shot his baby brother a wicked smile and went back inside._

_"Coming, mummy!"_

_"I'm not the stupid one!" The younger boy whispered to himself, but he didn't believe it. "I'm not the stupid one."_

_Why do you always cry? Why can't you just leave it alone? Why do you love that dumb dog do much? He's just a dog! He's even dumber that those kids at school that you always try to tag along with._

_The words never left his mind. They were always there. Always. Every time his brother called him a name or teased him or poked fun... Every time he flicked Redbeard's or Sherlock's own nose..._

_They were all there._

_All that hurt._

_You can't escape the hurt._

_"I'm not stupid, Redbeard," Sherlock repeated his mother's words. "I'm just more sensitive. I'm 'high-functioning.'"_

_And he didn't know what the word meant or what his mother was even talking about, but it made him feel better._

* * *

><p>"Molly," Sherlock began as his daughter slowly re-entered the waiting room. The girl was stone faced and silent.<p>

And the last person she was going to speak to was her father.

Sherlock's eyes caught the doctor's and the woman gave him a stern look that he read to mean "give her a moment," but he was never good with social politeness and etiquette. He opened his mouth again before the door flung open.

"Molly!" Jack burst into the room and Molly made eye contact with him. Immediately she let him take her in his arms. Her body was still stiff and uncomfortable and possibly more so now that she was being held, Sherlock couldn't tell very well from his vantage point. "Oh, Molly..." The young man sighed.

"Jack." Sherlock regarded the boy.

His best friend's son looked at him and nodded.

"I'm just going to take her for lunch, then."

"Right...ok...yeah."

"Come on, Molls." Jack wrapped one arm around her waist and soothingly helped her downstairs, treating her as if she were made of glass.

"She's not made of glass." Sherlock muttered. "And she doesn't need your help."

But they were out of ear shot.

"Mr. Holmes, your daughter is a very troubled girl. I've never seen such a case in my life." The doctor cut into his thoughts. He looked at her. Brown hair, hazel eyes. Shoes polished like new-kept in a drawer in her office. She wore sneakers to the building, she went running in the morning.

"You haven't?" He focused again, making eye contact.

"No, she's certainly...you were right."

"Did she talk about me?"

"I can't say, it would be breaking confidentiality."

"Is it my fault?" He asked again, his eyes searching hers._ It is._

But she pretended she could fool him and shook her head. _It's my fault. I made her this way._

Was Sherlock Holmes feeling real, unadulterated guilt? Possibly, he wasn't sure. He didn't experience it often, if at all.

"You're certainly correct in your assumption. But I cannot diagnose her until she is at least eighteen years of age." The woman scribbled something down and ripped it. "Here's my number, call me if something happens to her. Right now, Mr. Holmes, you need to focus on her. I know that there is no one in guardianship or parent-ship of her that is not suffering from a personality disorder-"

_Suffering, who says I'm suffering?_

"-but you need to work on being as respectful and understanding as I'm sure your parents were of you."

He nodded.

"Of course."

And with a sweep of his coat, he left.

The slip of paper with the doctor's number in the ground.

He'd memorized it anyways.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: hiya! :)**

**i thought you you all deserved a little more feels...mostly because the last chapter was short so here's a short supplement with a really sad flashback...**

**I'm scared to know what happens next**

**So!**

**Cooper-Gwen: awe thank you! :D I'm really honestly flattered!**

**Daeril Ullothwen: ah! Thank. You. So. Much!**

**Diamondgirl3: yeah...Mycroft is gonna be a struggle...but thank you! :D**

**YoIt'sThatOneGirlNamedBianca: I know...right now Mary is my favourite...but poor John and Sherlock!**

**ah ok so review and favourite and follow and such but mostly review cuz it's my favourite part of writing you the chapter: replying to you! :D**


	6. Chapter 6

_"Mummy, why does everyone hate me?" A young Sherlock looked up at his mother._

_"Oh, Shirley, no one hates you!" The boy made a face at the girl's name. _

_"Mummy, it's _SHERLOCK. _Not 'Shirley.'"_

_His mother chuckled._

_"Sorry, dear."_

_The boy swung his legs back and forth as he sat on the kitchen counter._

_"Mummy, what do you mean when you call me 'high-functioning?'" Sherlock questioned shyly._

_"Well…"_

* * *

><p>"Sociopaths aren't a thing anymore." Jack quickly began his explanation. "So you can't be!"<p>

"She was about to diagnose me with something, so I don't know." Molly grumbled.

"Your dad is…he's not a sociopath, even if he was diagnosed before the DSM-V." Jack promised. "Molly, I study this at Uni, you know I'm not lying to you."

"Well what am I?"

"Maybe you're a little autistic?" Jack pushed a book at her. "High functioning autism spectrum, Aspergers maybe. It would perfectly explain why it's in your family. Your gran was a mathematician right? And your uncle doesn't function—"

"But he _does _function!"

"Ok, ok, maybe your uncle is legitimately antisocial or maybe he's a full-blown psychopath. But, I'm positive you aren't ok? I know you." Jack pointed to a line in one of the books he had laid out.

"You don't know me, apparently I don't know me."

"I _know _you, ok? Molly, we've known each other since you were born! Our dad's are best friends. You and your dad are _not _sociopaths. You're just shy and a little cold sometimes, I don't think it's anywhere near the severity of it being a serious psychological problem!"

"Coming from you, Jack?" She snorted. "You studied psych so that you could work with criminally insane people in jails."

"And you're hardly criminally insane." He pressed. "Look at you, you're perfectly healthy. Your dad and you created your mind into something that isn't yours. He's put too much stress on you. He's turning you into him. You're going to be cold and lonely—"

"You don't know anything!" The books flew off the table with a sweep of her hand.

_Come home when convenient —Dad_

Her phone buzzed and she checked it, immediately groaning.

"Don't think everyone expects you to be a fuck up. They don't." Jack stood up and grabbed her hand. "Molly, we all think you're normal, you're just a little troubled."

* * *

><p>"I think your brother is right, Mr. Holmes." The psychiatrist agreed. "A dog will definitely be a step in the right direction!"<p>

"Ok, thank you…" Sherlock hung up. "Ok. Check one, dog."

He watched the little puppy that playfully bounded around the flat, suddenly grateful that he was landlord and could stand to take the animal in, not that he thought his favourite, late landlady would not have allowed it. Just, now he was sure.

After watching the new animal for several more minutes he began to feel a panic rising in his chest and he texted The first person he thought of.

"Why would you call me here, Sherlock?" John groaned. "It's a dog, you've purchased a pet. What a significant step in your life."

But of course, his friend and previously flatmate had no clue.

"I'm scared, John." Sherlock hissed, watching as the puppy poked it's nose into a-well-nose that had fallen to the ground from one of Sherlock's experiments. "What if we have to put it down?"

"It's a baby, Sherlock, that isn't going to happen for a long while-hang on," John frowned, "Why are you so nervous?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"You're worried you'll form an attachment to the dog!" John accused, somewhat sourly. "You've never formed an attachment to any living being in your life, Sherlock."

"That's Mycroft." He muttered. "I'm relatively normal."

"This is rich, when was the last time you formed any sort of attachment, Sherlock Holmes? You're not even attached to your own daughter!"

"I am!" Sherlock replied curtly. "I love her. She's my daughter and I want her to be happy."

"Then make her happy, Sherlock." John urged. "I think her psychiatrist is correct, the puppy is a nice step." There was a moment. "You're going to be doing an awful lot of walking."

"—Hired the paperboy already." He waved it off. "I know she's going to 'forget' to walk it…but I thought it was a nice step. I just don't want to have to put it down."

"You'll have years before that happens."

_That's what I'm afraid of. Years to bond. _

"It's gonna be rough. Look at him."

John smiled at his friend, happy to see that he was finally happy again. He certainly wasn't stressed about losing his daughter, at the very least. The both startled when their phones buzzed simultaneously.

Jack is on his way home. He's dropping Molly off first. Come home, John. Get ready, Sherlock.

-MW

The two friends said their hurried goodbyes, Sherlock put his case away and picked up the little puppy, ruffling it's coat and trying to make it look cute. The little beagle yelped in excitement and licked at his captor's face. Sherlock chuckled and let it shift itself around until it was comfortable. Just like that, he sat himself down on his chair and waited patiently. His daughter was hesitating outside, he could hear her. Finally, she opened the door and stepped into the room. She nodded at him in acknowledgement.

"Hello, Molly." She passed him. "You're not going to acknowledge the puppy?" She froze and turned around.

"Dad! You didn't!" She shrieked in sudden, overwhelming excitement.

"He's a beagle." Sherlock announced proudly. His daughter smiled and scooped it up. "And he's all yours."

"What's his name?" She cooed, rocking it in her arms.

"He doesn't have one...I thought I'd leave that up to you." Sherlock smiled, happy to see her involved. Happy to see her...happy. As much as he'd probably never admit it, he missed his baby girl.

"Timothy Richard Oscar Ulysses Simeon Edward Roosevelt." Molly said in one large breath.

"You're worse than your grandmum, you know that?" The man laughed at his daughter, ruffling his hair awkwardly.

"Trouser, for short."

"Trouser?'" He was laughing for real now. "That's terrible. I don't want any grand children named after articles of clothing, Molly."

The girls face fell a little.

"Oh, Molly, no," the man was growing a little nervous. "No, it's fine, I wasn't insinuating anytime soon."

"I'll never have children." She looked a little upset, but was trying to genuinely hide it. "I'm a freak."

"No..." He sighed, standing up and picking the puppy out of her arms. He gently set the dog on the ground and the puppy whined. "Molly, I was out of line, as your father, to say what I did. You are hardly a 'freak' and it was absurd of me to even insinuate that, let alone say it."

The girl nodded.

"And I have you, don't I?" He smiled sadly. "So you can have children. I'm much more of a freak than you are."

She nodded, tears starting to form.

_Oh God…don't cry…please…don't cry._

He had never handled emotion well. Ever.

"Thanks, da." She gave him a small hug before sitting on the floor to play with the family's new addition—if you could even call it a family.

Sherlock nodded and swept himself into the kitchen.

"Come here, Trouser, boy!" The girl was play wrestling with the puppy and Sherlock chucked to himself.

* * *

><p><em>"Redbeard!" Sherlock called to the dog. "Redbeard, come here!" He laid on his back in the yard the dog attacked him with sloppy kisses all over his young face. "I'm going to be a pirate just like you, one day!"<em>

_"You're so stupid, Willy. Really." Mycroft rolled his eyes from where he stood. _

_"It's Sherlock." The younger boy growled. "My name is Sherlock."_

_"Sorry, brother dearest." The eldest sneered walked over, placing a deliberate stomp too close to his younger brother's head. The dog immediately growled and snapped at the boy's leg to which he responded with a light kick. The poor animal whined and backed off before defensively growling again._

_"Don't hurt him!" Sherlock cried. "Don't hurt him!"_

* * *

><p>"Don't hurt him!"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN-**

**Shadows Concealed in Darkness: awe yay! the feels! :3**

**Daeril Ullothwen: Awe! Thank you! :)**

**To the guest!: Yes you can! :D Thank you!**


	7. Chapter 7

_"Give them back!" And adolescent Sherlock yelled. His hair was messy and a little greasy. He appeared to be in his late teens, but he could have easily been in his early twenties. A man stood across from him, tall and firm in his stance. He wore a grey suit and his hair was fixed ever so perfectly atop his head. Sherlock himself was wearing a wrinkled and old button down that he had thrown on haphazardly when he realized his brother had come for a visit. His pants were virtually nonexistent since they were also wrinkled, certainly had not been washed or worn recently, and were fastened on his hips with a belt that he had accidentally left in the loops the last time he'd worn them. The other man seemed unimpressed by the lack of zipped zippers below his waist. "Mycroft, I swear!"_

_"Sherlock, it has come to my attention—"_

_"You're stalking me."_

_"I understand that paranoia is a very typical feeling that can be found in someone in your current state, however—"_

_"No, you're stalking me. Your people, Mycroft, they follow me everywhere. I watch them when they think I'm not looking. They're utterly stupid." Sherlock hissed. "Stop following me everywhere."_

_"I don't have the time to follow you everywhere," The older man laughed. "I wish I did, but the world does not revolve around a Mr. Sherlock Holmes."_

_"It doesn't revolve around a Mr. Mycroft Holmes either." _

_"You'll be kicked out of Uni if they find out, Shirley."_

_"Don't. Call. Me. That." Sherlock growled, "I am not a child."_

_"Stop acting like one, brother dear." Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, striding slowly around the room now. He broke eye contact with his brother when he passed him to look at the notes on the desk. Papers were scattered with scribbled writing that made little to no sense. "Interesting method."_

_"Most of the work is in my head."_

_"I see." He nodded, brushing a finger through the dust that coated the wood before lifting it up and staring at it. "Cocaine?" Mycroft eyed his brother who scowled. He rubbed his fingers together to remove the excess residue before moving on through the room._

_"Get out of my room, Mycroft."_

_"You live alone here?"_

_"No one wants to be locked up in a single room with me." Sherlock sneered._

_"Is my baby brother sad that the other children never place nice with him?" _Taunting.

_It took Sherlock a moment longer than usual to recognize the intonation of his brother's voice. It took a moment to be sure he was teasing him. Mycroft would never grow up._

_"No." _Too quickly.

_"Emotions are a sign of weakness."_

_"They're a sign of being human, of being normal." Sherlock snapped back._

_"You are not normal, Sherlock." Mycroft glared. "You are highly intelligent and you are _wasting _your abilities spending your time at Uni locked up in your dormitory taking notes on pointless matters and spending money on drugs."_

_They are not useless. Those notes were not useless. He had texted the local law enforcement three times in the past week alone based on newspaper articles. Of course, he had tipped them off from the cellphones he had so politely pick pocketed from other students. He always returned them to somewhere the poor victim of his skills had been on it, so it would look like they had simply left it behind. Most of his "victims" had been shy girls who were looking for attention. He had read somewhere that most people meet their future partners at Uni or immediately through connections made there. _

_That clearly was not happening for him at the moment._

_Not that he wanted it to, and if Mycroft ever knew he even had that fact stored away in his mind he would be done for._

_One girl in particular he had met had certainly read the same article and was on a mission that clearly involved Sherlock himself. He felt uncomfortable by most of her approaches. Originally he had thought her of an innocent girl who served no threat to him in the slightest. She was clearly intelligent, but shy and…mousey. She was as skittish as a wild pony from the Americas and she was just as frazzled sometimes. He had been forced to share words with her in an assignment and since then she had begun to wear makeup and would stare at him until his ears turned red from the discomfort. _

_He loved attention, but not like that._

_"Sherlock, are you listening to me?" Mycroft snapped angrily and Sherlock reacted too quickly, still on a high. In a quarter of a second he had his brother pinned up against the wall by a hand on his neck, by Sherlock's hand on his neck._

_Wow, it felt good to finally ruffle his older brother up a little._

_"Leave me alone, Mycroft." Sherlock growled warningly. "Leave. Now."_

_"Sherlock, you will clean up this nonsense and gather yourself together or I will tell dear Mummy that she is paying hard-earned money from her incredible publications for a drug-loving, good-for-nothing son to get an education he is hardly taking seriously."_

_"I am taking it seriously!" He released his grip._

_"Start passing then." Mycroft readjusted his collar. "You are lucky I intercepted those reports or mummy would have thrown a fit."_

_"Professor is the least intelligent man I have ever encountered in my lifetime." Sherlock said indignantly, instantly knowing what course his brother was referring to._

_"Now you are simply being childish." Mycroft sneered and left._

_Something caught Sherlock's eye in the corner by his desk as he turned around and he immediately realized he had blatantly disregarded the fact Mycroft had found his stash in the bottom drawer and had left it open to alert him to such actions._

_He yanked the drawer out and looked down. A box sat at the bottom of it and the student looked around, trying to decipher when and how Mycroft had managed to do that without him noticing. _

_The label was scrawled in Mycroft's own rolling script that accurately depicted his voice and "posh" drawl on paper and it read simply "a friend for my dear brother." The sarcasm practically oozed through Sherlock's fingers when he traced over it._

_He slowly opened the box and looked down inside._

_"A skull?" Sherlock made a face. "What kind of joke is this?"_

* * *

><p>"Don't hurt him!" Molly screeched, running through the street with Jack hot on her heels. Trouser ran ahead of the both of them on a tight leash, howling like the wind that was blowing through the two teenagers's ears. Jack reached out and grabbed Molly's hand as she held it back for him and they appeared slightly like a very disorganized and off-track train.<p>

"Jesus, Molly, you need to stop!" Jack shouted. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"So is dad!" She called back. They could hardly hear each other as they ran, Molly thankful Trouser jumped the police tape so that she could too.

"Excuse me, who do you all think you are. That's a crime scene!" A man yelled angrily from the other side of the tape. "I will be calling—"

"It's fine! Our dad's are in there!" Jack yelled back.

Gunshot.

"And as to who we are," Molly looked over her shoulder. "Molly Holmes and Jack Watson. I think we can be here."

Another gunshot rang out as they ascended the dark steps. There was an angry shout from upstairs.

Trouser howled again, this time stopping in the middle of the landing.

"There's someone here." Molly hissed. "Standing guard outside the room." Her eyes had yet to adjust but the puppy could sense it and she trusted him before herself.

Gunshot and an "oh my God!" And Molly found herself on the floor, pressed by Jack and Trouser, both breathing heavily.

"I can hold my own, boys." She hissed quietly.

"You've already announced your arrival, why be quiet?" It was a woman's voice, sickly sweet. Trouser growled.

"What's the plan?" Jack muttered, he almost wanted to smack himself across the face. They had never planned what to do when they got there.

Molly had to focus to keep her eyes from widening at the horror of the realization. Instead, she let them scan over the approaching woman.

_Black hair. Roots. Dyed._

_Redhead._

_Brown eyes. Blue lining. Contacts. Coloured. Naturally…green._

_Shirt. White. Loose-fitting. Semi-opaque. Bra. Straps: none abnormal. No weapon: back or chest._

_Pants. Black. Tight, skinny. Wrinkled at bottom: thin ankles. Abnormal bumps: none. No weapon. _

_Belt. Holster. No extra ammunition._

_Hand. Gun. Black and silver. Pistol? No. Locked breech semiautomatic. Model…_

She was trying to categorize lists of guns she had seen in her head but it was hardly any European-make.

_American. American._

_Magnum Research. _The name came from no where, she had seen it on a programme then, possibly?

She had it.

_Magnum Research: MRFA4011FL_

_Magazines…magazines…_

She couldn't remember. She tried eyeballing it but she wasn't familiar with those types of things, remembering the gun was a miracle in and of itself.

_2-11 rounds._

She took a breath and looked into the woman's eyes.

_She's not American, remember that._

Molly tried to move her fingers unnoticeably to give Jack the symbol of how many rounds she had.

_Where's dad?_

She pressed two fingers to the nearest part of his body and tried to determine where she had heard the gunfire.

There it was again. There were two shooters in the house.

_She's been standing guard, she hasn't wasted a single shot. _

_Let's see if we can make her start._

Molly took off, up the remaining stairs and down the hall. She knocked into the woman before she had been given the chance to fire and knocked her off balance.

Gunshot.

_One bullet gone._

"Molly, you can't run straight!" Jack shouted.

_Right. Duh!_

Gunshot.

"Hey watch it, woman!"

_Two down._

There was a low-pitched yip and Trouser had found her side, apparently using the gun woman's distraction as his moment to catch-up.

"Trouser, you'll get hurt!" They were up another flight of stairs. The woman was torn between pursuing and finishing the young boy below her and in her hesitation, he managed to pull himself up and down the hall behind the others.

Gunshot.

"Fuck."

Molly was scared to turn back when he hissed.

_Three down._

She took a risky moment to look behind her and nearly tripped on the stairs. Jack was obviously impaired by an injury to his left ankle.

Trouser ducked to the side just as a bullet whizzed past.

_Hunting dog. _She remembered, _he must have some semblance of instinct on where to be. _

There was a gunshot from upstairs and another from behind. The woman had forgotten about Jack, deeming him the least of her worried and following Molly instead.

_Four._

Trouser had made it further because of her hesitation and she didn't have his guide to tell her where to go. Thankfully, this woman was a terrible shot.

"Trouser, what the bloody hell, Sherlock, that's your dog!" John Watson's familiar voice reached her ears and so did hurried footsteps down the stairs.

"Wait! She has a gun!" Molly shrieked a warning.

Gunshot.

_Five, only six more._

"Molly?" A worried Sherlock called out. She heard the footsteps stop. "Molly, are you ok?"

"Your daughter is fine, Sherlock Holmes." The woman sneered.

It wasn't necessarily a lie, but it wasn't true. Molly didn't want to correct her. One can only misfire so many times before succeeding. Where Jack's wound was bleeding more because of gravity, from her viewpoint several meters on, it was only a graze. Though, he was lucky she hadn't taken out his tendon.

She certainly had a bullet through the back of her upper shoulder and she couldn't spot an exit wound, but she couldn't very well hide that she was holding her back together.

_Stomach, stomach. Lie on your stomach. _

The pain was near excruciating, but she didn't want Jack to see either. She was trying to hide it from two sides of her and she couldn't find it in half of her muscles to move. They were frozen in an eerie and painful stillness, and she was starting to shake.

"Miss, you can walk away now. The police are here, you can go to prison and be safe." Jack tried to soothe. _Psychology is not going to magically help us, dingbat. _

Police sirens.

"Jack?" John hissed.

She was starting to feel funny now. She could hear policemen approaching, she could hear another gunshot, there was a warm sensation on her face, people were talking. She was awake, she registered that much…but she wasn't aware.

And she wasn't ever going to be if they didn't get her to a hospital quick.

"Trust your daughter to get shot." John had repositioned the girl and an officer called for an ambulance. Marion, the woman, had been shot in the leg by he himself and was not going to die from her injuries, but was certainly excruciatingly incapacitated. John had already made an officer apply pressure and the man in question was sitting there still holding the perpetrator's leg.

"Like father like son." Sherlock made a motion towards the teenager who was slowly making his way towards them.

"Jesus Christ." John couldn't get up from where he was, holding Sherlock's daughter. "Molly, Molly can you hear me?"

Sherlock immediately helped Jack over.

"Can I help?" He asked, sitting down next to his father. He had already ripped part of his shirt to make a bandage.

"You can take care of your own wound."

"Dad, she's my girlfriend." Jack protested.

"And I told you to stay away from her." John snapped back. "She's dangerous."

"She wanted to help. You were in trouble."

"And how she ever figured that out, I will never fully understand. Her mind works in different ways."

Sherlock watched the conversation, a little pain in his chest as he moved Molly's hair out of her face.

_Freak. Weirdo. Go away. No one likes you. _

"This is no offense to you, Sherlock."

"There was none taken." Sherlock shook his head.

"Dad, please."

"Jack, take care of yourself, please." John was beside himself. "You're distracting me from Molly. If you want to help her, help yourself and stay out of our way. Please."

"Molly?" Jack moved himself next to Sherlock, out of his dad's way. "Molly, please can you hear me?"

"It's not too bad, Sherlock." John was saying. "I think the worst of it is shock, but she'll be more than fine and she can certainly recover. It doesn't seem to have hit the joint."

Sherlock nodded, watching Jack with fascination as he tried to help.

He knew John was just frustrated. In truth, Sherlock was more than sufficiently angry. Trouser had not left Molly's side since they had shot Marion in the leg.

"How did Molly know, Jack?" Sherlock asked suddenly. "Where did she find out where we were?"

"She just knew…" Jack said, honestly. "We actually didn't plan to meet up. I saw her walking Trouser and we walked together for a bit. She got back to your flat and looked really nervously around, she kept saying something was wrong with the door. She made me hold the leash and she ran up for a moment before coming back and saying you'd been kidnapped. She just knew. She didn't say how."

_They took something. _

Sherlock frowned, going through his head what was there to take.

_Case file._

_Red head._

_Blonde._

_The Russian-American case Mycroft had asked his help on. Agent-007-esq "mission" that was entirely local and dealing with foreign intelligence. Clearly someone had discovered his involvement. _

_They took the file. _

He would have to call Mycroft, unless he was already aware.

"She didn't want you to get hurt." Jack glanced between both of the fathers. "She was really, really scared."

John looked up.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock recognized the look on his friend's face.

"The ambulance is here, but she needs help now…She was moving herself around so much I didn't realize she'd moved the bullet, but it's not as clean as I thought it was. She'll be losing blood quicker if we move her too much."

Sherlock blinked and John nodded.

"Jack, get the medics and tell them to bring—"

"I'll go," Sherlock shook his head. "I know what you'll need."

"Of course you do." John shook his head. Jack scooped Trouser into his arms.

"What are you going to do?"

"The one thing that you never do." John gritted his teeth. "Remove the bullet."

"Why are we doing it?"

"Because it's digging in further and I think it's too much of a risk to move her." He was an army doctor, and he had never suggested an emergency removal on the field. Ever. It was stupid, dangerous, and usually pointless. But this was something weird and different. Her movement had caused the bullet to move deeper and the destruction far more tissue.

And though it was highly irrational of him to fear it, he did worry that it would move towards her heart. However, he soon decided against the removal with an epiphany.

"Get Sherlock, Uncle Sherlock, whatever, get him." He told his son. "Tell him to bring only the gauze and the bandages and the gurney. I'm overreacting tell him." It wasn't entirely true, but upon further investigation he knew the girl could make it, but she needed to survive shock.

* * *

><p>"Didn't even die on the table, unlike you." John teased his friend to cheer him up. Sherlock gave him a half smile, staring intently at the bed. John had gotten in solely because of his status as a doctor, but Sherlock was the parent and had been the only one to spend the night.<p>

"I can't believe she'd risk this." They'd induced a coma to let her have time to recover. She was meant to come to within the next few hours, but it could potentially be longer.

"She's your daughter." John shrugged, watching her now, too.

"And Jack is your son."

John nodded. They were silent for a little while.

"What if we wind up—"

"No." Sherlock cut him off.

"Right, shouldn't think about that." John agreed. "much too frightening."

"Extremely so."

They were silent again.

"She's on morphine." Sherlock commented.

"Is that a good idea, with your history?" John knew the answer.

"No."

"Good, good."

_Yes. Brilliant._

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Ok sorry for the heart attack...I promise everything is better...I had to set this up though so I went for the most dramatic and traumatizing way possible without killing her.**

**I debated removing the bullet but then I was like "oh...he's a doctor...he's not that incredibly stupid" though there are some instances that apparently need it I didn't want to go there...plus shock is the bigger issue at that point. she's been lying there long enough to die xD like I'm pretty sure she should have died. This isn't an accurate story right there...**

**Um. Um. Um. The skull thing is only semi-relevant here...it'll make more sense later...**

**OK! REVIEW TIMES! So I got so many and i was happy this time! I mean, I'm always happy to get any but soooo many! SOOO MANY!**

**Yolt'sThatOneGirlNamedBianca - oh yes with the feels**

**Shadows Concealed in Darkness - He did get her a puppy! :D Puppy is BRILLIANT! Trouser, little Trouser. And it depends on what you mean :) I'd need more details**

**Daeril Ullothwen - Thank you! Ah! Thank you so much! :D it makes me so happy**

**gus'hazelgrace - I can and I will leave it like that :p but yeah...Trouser :3 a single Trouser. I love His Last Vow too! I was just..AH! Perfection.**

**shay - Awe yay! You're welcome!**

**Ah! More will be up eventually! Review pwease! It makes me happier! I have most of the chapters written I just have to upload and I tend to more with reviews :p**


	8. Chapter 8

_"Oh yes, your father used to get into tons of trouble." A middle-aged Mycroft nodded at his niece, a smirk on his face. "In fact, your grand mummy used to take his chemistry books away when he misbehaved. Like the time he was cooking methamphetamine when he first moved to this little flat of yours—"_

_"What are you telling my daughter?" Demanded Sherlock angrily, walking into the room._

_"Uncle Mikie is telling me aaaaaaall about you, daddy!" The young girl squealed._

_"But your father," Mycroft continued, lip twitching at the name Sherlock had taught Molly to call her uncle purposefully to drive him insane, "He only does cocaine. Nothing else. He was just making money—"_

_"You are done here." Sherlock growled, pointing at the door. "You can leave."_

_"Oh, but brother dearest, mummy's dying wish was for us to share holidays with her grandchild. You would hardly want to hurt her, of all people." Mycroft's eyes twinkled._

_Sherlock looked utterly disgusted, knowing that not only was his brother using the death of their mother to manipulate him into letting him stay for Christmas dinner, but also taunting him about his attachment to their mother._

_"No, I suppose I would never do anything of the sort, deny my mother her parting wish." _

_Having children is such a pain, you suddenly have the tendency to be late everywhere you go. This, he suspected, was the reason for the absence of the only two people who were going to keep him sane during this dinner._

_"How is the cooking coming, brother?" Mycroft asked. "You have never been the one to eat. I wonder why poor Molly looks so thin."_

_"Stop it, would you?" Sherlock snapped, "get out of my head."_

_Molly looked up from her dolls and turned to her father._

_"Daddy, don't fight!"_

_Mycroft gave his brother the fakest, most sarcastic smile he could manage._

_"Yes, Shirley, 'don't fight.'"_

_"Happy Christmas!" John's voice reached their ears as he walked in with a smile, his son in his arms. Jack was slobbering all over his hand and Mary followed them with a plate of cookies for the two kids._

Thank God.

_Though he was hardly religious, Sherlock felt it right to thank someone in that moment._

_"Jack!" Molly shrieked happily and Sherlock winced, he hated when they got loud. _

_Jack's face brightened and he smiled. John placed him on the floor. Although the boy was a good two years older, Molly did have the advantage of a slighter larger vocabulary. Jack was in no way stupid or slow, he was just behind Molly in all of her female brains—not to mention what she probably inherited from her parents._

_Six and eight years old, Molly's grandmother had just passed away a few weeks before and that was the last time she had seen Jack—who happened to be the only person she got along with._

_"Molly!" Jack tackled her in a hug. Mary laughed and John and Sherlock shook their heads at each other. _

_"Who else is coming?" John asked, taking his family's coats in order to place them on the coatrack. _

_"Lestrade, Hooper, the Waltons—" John looked confused at the third name that Mycroft listed in a monotonous voice. _

_"The Waltons?" _

_"Yes, Janine." Sherlock nodded._

_"Janine?"_

_"Yes, Janine." Sherlock repeated slowly. "She and I have been…talking."_

_"Oh have you?" John raised an eyebrow curiously. Molly and Jack ran into Molly's room to play._

_"Yes, she's married in fact and has a daughter around Molly's age."_

_"Oh, that's going to be interesting." Mary chuckled. "I can't imagine many girls get along with Molly."_

_"No, they do not." Sherlock agreed._

_"He's putting her into _normal _school for the fall semester next year." Mycroft sounded disgusted. "Because it worked so well for us."_

_"She'll fit in." Sherlock snapped, ignoring Mycroft's horribly mislead use of terms. He had no children, he was clueless or failed to care. Knowing his brother, it was most likely the latter._

_"She reads faster than Jack…" John looked at Sherlock sympathetically. "Maybe she should skip a level—"_

_"Or two." Mary nodded. "You could put her in Jack's class. She would have a friend and she could certainly handle the work."_

_"No. She will start from the beginning." Sherlock shook his head. "She is going to be fine."_

_She had to be._

* * *

><p>It was a week after Molly came home from hospital. She was sitting calmly on her chair in the little living area while her dad cooked when she looked up.<p>

"Da, I'm sorry."

They had yet to speak about what had happened, in fact Molly had hardly spoken since the ordeal.

Sherlock looked up, thoroughly startled by her voice. He had just assumed she'd gone mute.

"I shouldn't have done that." She looked embarrassed. "I just…I thought that you were in trouble…I saw the papers that had fallen and I saw the note they had left and I answered the voicemail warning and I got scared."

"How did you know where we were?" Her father questioned, sitting down across from her. "I am thoroughly interested in knowing."

"I guessed…" She admitted. "I know you had been working on a case involving that spot…and it is the location of the old Russian embassy here…I thought maybe—"

"You put the pieces together well." Her father nodded. "You should never assume that your uncle or I are in over our heads, though. It puts you in danger that you don't need to be in. And you dragged Jack with you—"

"He followed—"

"He was scared for you." Sherlock pointed out. "It is never good to toy with someone's emotions like that."

"He hates me." Molly sighed. "He won't speak to me."

Sherlock didn't deny or confirm her suspicions. Truth be told, Jack didn't hate her. He was currently arguing with his father over talking to her again. Sherlock and Mary both saw it as being absurd, because he was an adult and perfectly capable of making his own judgements. On top of that, John was being a bit hypocritical. Actually, he was being extremely hypocritical. It was useless to argue with his son over something he would have done himself.

"I think he just needs time." It was hardly a lie.

Molly nodded, playing with Trouser's ears.

"Why don't you see what's on the tele?"

"There's nothing good."

"How does your shoulder feel?"

"Fine."

* * *

><p><em>Mycroft was by his side again, Molly was asleep. She had woken up that day and was back to sleep only a few hours later.<em>

_"She's going to be like you, I think." Mycroft watched her._

_"I hope not."_

_"Why not, brother dear?"_

Too much baggage being Sherlock Holmes.

_"Because she isn't me. She's herself." Sherlock sighed. "I want her to live the life she wants for herself. She wants to get married and have children, she wants to be a normal girl—"_

_"She'll never be _normal_, Sherlock." Mycroft made a disgusted face at the idea. "The intelligence lurking behind those eyes—"_

_"She doesn't push herself anymore. She's bored. She goes out and does stupid things until far beyond midnight. She dropped good classes. She doesn't speak in school—"_

_"She's embarrassed and she's bored, like you said." Mycroft nodded. "I suppose it is more difficult to be yourself these days."_

_"It always was, Mycroft." Sherlock looked at him._

_Mycroft nodded, immediately understanding that Sherlock himself had never fit in. Part of it was his fault for being more intelligent that most people his age—than all people his age. The other problem was his being the "stupid one" between the two siblings. He never fit in amongst the "smart ones" because Mycroft was always smarter._

_Mycroft was always smarter._

_"She's getting severely bored if she thinks swooping in to save her father is smart." _

_"I know."_

_"You should find her something to do."_

_"I will."_

_Mycroft nodded again and left the room, leaving Sherlock alone with his sleeping daughter and his thoughts._

_She was engaging in unnecessarily risky behaviour. It was only a matter of time before she started involving herself in sex and drugs to ward off the boredom._

_He shivered._

_The risks of sex were incredible and it all depended on which risk she sought. He never wanted to think of her, of his _daughter _doing anything of the sort. It was obvious she was thinking about it—her choice of dates and activities. _

_He needed to find her something to do._

_And he needed to find it fast._

* * *

><p>"You need to stop bringing <em>those <em>types back." Sherlock made a face.

Molly groaned.

"It was a date. You ruined it."

"Must you go out on a date with disgusting children every weekend?"

"They are not children! He was legal!"

"You are not legal and he certainly does not behave like he is." Sherlock shuddered. "People like that vote. That is utterly horrifying."

"Serial killers vote, too!"

"I find serial killers and take them off the streets. I can hardly go about jailing children for being…active and disgusting about it, can I?"

Molly sighed, utterly defeated and too tired to get in an argument again.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked.

Molly looked into his eyes, the only sign of teenage defiance.

"You tell me."

_You're bored._

Mycroft was right, and so were Sherlock's own fears. She started into his eyes for a few more moments before leaving the room.

_A challenge. Teenagers._

He had tried books and sudoku and crosswords and different types of puzzles and stimulating things. He let her help him with a case. She was still bored. She was partying on school nights, and he had caught her every time sneaking out or making her way back in. He had actually physically followed her twice and dragged her home kicking and screaming. She was getting into rows she got sent to the principal's office at school.

No longer was her issue being uncomfortable—at least not entirely, it was being content and occupied. In part, this was because of her being uncomfortable. She did her homework in school in minutes and she still never answered any questions, but she got in trouble for arguing with her physics teacher over his method…and then called him a "stupid American." It was true, Sherlock agreed, but hardly appropriate to say. As John reminded him, when he got the phone call during a case, Sherlock was hardly the one to talk about "being appropriate."

She had taken to calling the entirety of her maths class "goldfish," no doubt thanks to her biological uncle and his monotonous sense of humour. She got in trouble for drawing them in class and naming them after classmates. In his daughter's defense, they did only give her six problems to do—six simple equations and forty minutes was hardly going to keep her entertained.

And Jack still had not spoken to her, though John did give in. So, currently, his daughter had no decent friends.

She was talking to the dog again.

He could hear her.

He was glad she had Trouser at the least, and she had been taking him out.

Even still, it was hardly enough.

He had to find something fast. Three weeks since she came home, only three weeks, and everything was falling apart again.

"Ah, brother mine, what has you calling?" Mycroft answered the phone, seemingly bored.

"Your niece."

"Your daughter?" Mycroft sounded a little more curious now. "Really? What's she done now?"

"She's bored."

"Well doesn't that sound familiar." There was a snort.

"Mycroft, I'm serious this time." Sherlock sighed. "I need help. What do teenage girls do?"

"You ask me as if I am one."

_Are you?_

The younger had to bite his tongue.

"I'm sure you've seen them on your cameras."

Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair.

"What do I do?"

"She hasn't followed you on another case," Mycroft pointed out, "I think she's fine as she is right now."

"She can't be getting into trouble everywhere—"

"And why not?" Sherlock groaned as Mycroft cut him off, the brothers would never quite grow up. "You are certainly famous for it."

"She can't be like me, and she certainly cannot be like her mother." Sherlock sighed. The last thing he needed was to be tempted back into drugs by his teenage daughter…

"Is she playing violin?" Mycroft asked suddenly and Sherlock was snapped out of his daze. He winced at the sound that greeted him in reality.

"Yes."

"She's not very good, is she?" Mycroft commented, it wasn't a question. Rather, it was a remark meant to set the younger brother off.

"Would you stop? She's fine."

"Is she?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

"You said so." There was a long pause between the two. "Ah, see."

"Shut up, Mycroft."

"Oh, brother mine, that _is_ horrible to say."

"It _is _horrible to commit fratricide, but I _will_." Sherlock growled into the receiver. "Listen, Mycroft, I hardly ever call you and I just need one favor."

"Oh calling for favors?"

Gritting his teeth, he continued. "I need you to keep an eye on her while I can't."

"Wasting the Commonwealth's money? Ah, that is an offense."

"You are the Commonwealth, brother. Help. Me."

"I'll see who I can spare. She could be running a drug cartel after all, knowing who her father is."

The phone clicked and Sherlock nearly yanked his greying hair from his head.

"Da?" His daughter's voice called nervously. "Da?"

"What, Molly?"

The girl shyly crept into the room and held out a packet for him.

"I've been accepted."

"You've been what?" Sherlock frowned, eyes narrowed, utterly confused.

"Accepted."

He stared at her, his previous conversation with Mycroft having absolutely stunned his thought process for a moment and he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"Da, I can go to Uni."

"You…" Sherlock's frown deepened. "You are only sixteen, Molly. You haven't even started looking yet—"

"Da, I applied for an early acceptance…I'd start first term next year…"

"Good." Sherlock nodded stiffly.

"Da?"

"I'm glad you've told me now you've been accepted. You know, instead of stealing the money as you clearly did in order to even apply." How had he not seen this one coming. Had there really been no signs?

"I applied when I was in hospital—" She began, "I was bored, you were at lunch…I thought maybe this is what I needed."

"We need to talk about it."

"But, da—"

"This is a serious decision, Molly, and you've gone and made it without me. I'm responsible for you!" He snapped, fingers to his temples. "We will talk about it later."

"Da, I just want to fit in…I'm bored and I don't have any friends—"

"Get changed, we're going to dinner in an hour." Sherlock stopped her, picking up his phone to text John for a friendly outing. He wasn't doing this one alone, and maybe Mary could help him.

"I'm not changing, da! You can speak to me right here."

His text alert chimed back. John was obviously unhappy, but could deal…and he'd said yes anyhow.

Mary wasn't _always_ the greatest of cooks.

"Dinner. Now."

"No." She crossed her arms over her chest. She was clothed in pajamas that she had put on upon her arrival home. Green flannel and she'd drawn stars and other doodles on in permanent markers and fabric paints—too much spare time. Her hair had magically become tangled, though he remembered she had taken a shower and probably not combed it because her hair got frizzy when she combed it. Her face was made-up with heavy eyeliner and mascara. Her lips were a dull shade of pink from wiped off lipgloss. Her sweatshirt was grey with some sort of stain on the back, but it'd disappear when it dried—it was from her previously wet hair.

"Fine." He shrugged. "You come as you are. Put Trouser in his crate will you?" He left the room to grab an outfit for her to change into if she needed it and her usual purse. Hiding it skillfully in his coat and he threw it on, he swept her out the door.

"Off to dinner we go."

* * *

><p><strong>AN-**

**AlithiaSigma - I'm just gonna reply to all of yours in one :p HERE WE GO! I'm glad you clicked it :p I've read the books and seen most portrayals of him so yeah :p I'm aware, but this is based off of the BBC Sherlock. All of you say he's surprisingly in character. I feel like I need to work harder to make him in-character. I'd be terribly scared personally xD I agree on the Mycroft thing, I can't remember if I mentioned it there, but I mean in my mind he's pretty much the inhuman one. Sherlock was actually originally based on Conan Doyle's professor or something who was able to tell all of this backstory to the cadavers they'd work on actually :p so yes, he's meant to be fairly human, just very intelligent! I like medically accurate…it bugs me. For instance, THIS chapter, HOLY CRUD she should not be up and fully functioning yet. xD and I did it anyways. I'm SUCH A BAD WRITER.**

**Still better than Stephanie Meyer…oops… :/ hope there's no Twilight fans…**

**I was one if that helps at all, I just hate it now.**

**eyyandrews - DID I MAKE YOU FEEL THE FEELS? Please say yes!**

**Anon Goldfish - wow…wonder who you are :p awe thank you! I studied/will study psychology in future years two week course at college and I officially enroll for fall semester! :D finally old enough!**

**Shadows Concealed In Darkness - Anaya Holmes…curious. Anaya is Hebrew isn't it? Maybe? I don't always get first names right…if it's not Hebrew, I know it's a place in Spain, unless that's spelt differently? Means something about God I think, probably, most of their names are religious. I'm going to give a wild guess and say "gift of/from God" but the only name I guarantee means that is Bohdan and that's Ukrainian xD um…yes. I shall reads it! :) and sibling love for the Holmes family is going to be fun to read :p EXCITING! I may have mentioned this before, but there is a series for young, young children but it's called the Enola Holmes series and that's about them both having a MUCH younger sister :3 Did you know it's written in a fan book that someone analyzed Sherlock Holmes and decided he and Mycroft are 2/8 siblings? TRUE STORY! :)**

**The more ya know!**

**Lovelies, sorry this took so, so very long! but please do comment :) makes me happy!**


	9. Chapter 9

_"You couldn't have made her get dressed into something more…appropriate perhaps?" Mycroft gritted his teeth._

_"She found this perfectly acceptable." Sherlock shrugged._

_"She is in play clothes, brother mine."_

_"She is in clothes. If you will recall the last time I was in this room, many years ago—"_

_"You refused to wear trousers. Point taken." Mycroft said cooly, recollecting himself._

_Sherlock did feel a little dumb, though. He would never tell Mycroft that—his brother could probably tell. His daughter was about to meet the King of England in her dirty play clothes, thoroughly embarrassing._

_Oh well, as he had said, at least she was wearing clothes._

* * *

><p>"Molly," Sherlock tossed her the clothes as they sat in the back of the cab. "If you want to change."<p>

She narrowed her eyes at him and clutched the clothing to her chest.

"I also grabbed this." He tossed makeup at her.

She shook her head , gathering it all together and turning to stare out the window.

"Jack might be there."

It really is amazing how emotion and love will make a person do literally anything. His daughter turned to the makeup with sudden, though cautious, interest. She looked at her father.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The rest of the ride was in silence, but it was obvious that both were planning their own ways out of the situation.

Upon arriving at their destination, Molly hurried herself to the toilets while her father waited for the table.

"Sherlock, what is this about?" John hissed, sitting down across from his friend and former flatmate. His wife put a comforting hand on his shoulder as she sat down. Jack quietly busied himself with his coat and chair, carefully listening to his father and uncle over the soft music and dull roar of the other people in the room.

"She's gotten far worse than I thought," Sherlock began hastily, watching wearily the direction she had run off to. "She stole—"

"She's not doi—she's not like you is she?" John had cut himself off in front of Jack, but the boy at least knew that much of his "uncle's" past. His face had lost all colour and his mother patted his hand quickly before turning to Sherlock again.

"She's certainly picking up bad habits, stealing."

"No surprise there, look who she's grown up surrounded by." John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure she had a reason." Mary shook her head, "I stole from my father when I was her age, wanted to go out with my friends more than I could personally afford. It's natural."

"Considering who her mother is, I wouldn't be surprised if—"

"Don't." Sherlock's hands gripped the edge of the table.

Jack looked thoroughly confused. Molly's mother had been alluded to more times in his life than he could count and he still had no idea as to why or who she was.

"Considering Jack has me for a mother, I hardly think it's fair that you constantly criticize him." Mary shook her head.

"Molly and Jack are nothing alike."

"Dad, I'm here." Jack spoke up suddenly snapping out of his thoughts. "Please don't act like I'm not. I'm here and I'm nineteen and attending university. Molly turns seventeen soon, it's not fair to talk about us like we're children—"

"Molly is a child." Sherlock suddenly snapped. "Don't be so thick as to think she isn't."

"Sherlock." Mary warned with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

He shook his head.

"She applied to university, early admittance for academic brilliance or whatever. She applied without telling me. She stole money or she asked Mycroft, I haven't the slightest." He sighed. The truth was he had lacked the time to look into it but he could honestly care less what the girl did. "She thinks she's going."

"Oh, Sherlock," Mary sighed. John deflated like a balloon. "We told you when they were younger that she should have been admitted to Jack's grade. The poor girl hardly fits in, especially now that she's a teenager. She wants more than what they're offering."

"She brings boys home. Frequently." Sherlock gritted his teeth. "I was either fortunate or unfortunate enough to walk in the other day."

"Well physiologically speaking, their brains are specifically designed to drive them to take risks at this age, to 'leave the nest' so to speak." John pointed out. "Maybe she's just hormone crazy. Maybe we're all entirely wrong."

"Dad," Jack warned as he spotted the girl in question coming from the bathroom. She was wearing a very pretty black dress which was simple in and of itself but paired with a pair of patterned black tights and Converse that went past her ankles.

"Not too shabby, Sherlock,". Mary gave him the compliment.

"I know how my daughter dresses." He huffed, looking down at his menu.

Jack glanced at the girl across the table before immediately looking at the menu in his ow hands again. Molly was almost in another world, the way she was staring at him, staring through him, maybe having a discussion with him in her head.

"It's not polite." Sherlock said smoothly, still reading his menu.

"Neither are you." Molly commented back, breaking her concentration.

Her father looked up and turned to her, a question in his eyes as he tried to read from her expression what she had been observing about her crush.

"So, Molly," Mary completely ignored the conversation between father and daughter. "Your father told us you've applied to a University?"

"Yeah." She smiled happily. "King's."

"Oh, wow." Mary made an impressed face. "Very impressive, what program me did you apply for?"

"Modern languages and Politics." She picked at the bread that had been placed in a basket in front of her while she'd been away.

"No molecular engineering then?" John joked. She shook her head.

"No."

"Modern languages are good, which branch?" Mary prodded encouragingly.

"English Law and German Law." She shrugged. "It's nothing too challenging but I thought it'd be more fun that where I am now."

"Well, it'll be a challenge, I'm sure." John nodded.

Sherlock show him a warning look, this was not the direction he had hoped the conversation would travel in.

"So you want to stay local then?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I don't see the problem, Sherlock, she can still live at home…"

Jack finally spoke up.

"She can't go to university…she's too young."

"I can too!"

"You're just going to get into trouble, Molly."

"I will not!"

"You're such a child, you aren't ready."

"Coming from you, you're worse than I am!"

"Stop it this instant." John snapped.

"She started it, with all of these stupid ideas!"

"Quit it!" She screeched. By now, the whole restaurant was watching them curiously.

Sherlock sighed and held his head in his hands.

"I'm going!"

"I really think it's the best for her, Sherlock." Mary agreed.

"Mother, stop." Jack held eye contact with the younger girl across the table. "You. Can't. Go."

"You're not my father!"

"I'm glad I'm not." He shrugged. "Don't have to worry about raising a bastard child."

"John Sherlock Watson." Mary warned lowly. Jack stopped, looking thoroughly startled by the use of his full name. "Apologize. That is going too far and that is inappropriate. Whatever your problem suddenly is with Molly, she has done nothing to you."

The whole table fell quiet and the waiter hurried over to take orders, hoping for the group to leave sooner.

Molly was holding back tears.

Is that really what he thinks?

She had been so happy… As childish as it was, Jack had been her first crush at the age of ten and it was years later that she had finally come so close to kissing him…she had been convinced he felt the same.

Maybe she was just really bad at reading people.

Sherlock and John were staring at each other, thoroughly startled by the children's outburst and completely ecstatic that Mary had been able to end it as suddenly as it had arisen.

Have I made her cry?

Jack was glancing up form his phone in passing. Surely enough, he could be almost positive those were the same tears that had been shed by his ex-girlfriend the day he had broken up with her, the type that were hidden just enough that you had to look to notice, but visible enough to make one feel terribly guilty. And, there it was, the terrible monster of sickening guilt eating at his stomach.

"Da, can you just…bring it home with you?"

Sherlock nodded, not even bothering to glance at her. He didn't like the exhibit of human emotion open for viewing in her eyes—in the eyes he'd so often been reminded that she'd taken from him.

"Of course."

She nodded stiffly and took her coat and things before leaving, snatching the note her father passed to her in order to get home.

"What was that?" John turned to his son.

"I dunno."

"That was absolutely ridiculous."

"John, don't be so hard on him." Sherlock sighed.

"That is no way to treat anybody, let alone a woman." Mary ignored the man. "What you did was childish and incredibly disrespectful, Jack."

"I'm sorry, alright?" He shook his head. "I was just a little fed up."

"With what? You haven't spoken to her in weeks!" Sherlock had finally had enough of everyone for the day. "All she talks about, every day."

"Well it's not my fault!" Jack shrugged, exasperated.

"You made her care." Sherlock emphasized. "You made her care! Of course it's your fault! She was fine. She was bored, but she was fine. And then she thought you cared and you didn't. I've raised her to be everything she could possibly be, no distractions, strong and brave and smart—someone who would use the gifts she had. And you made her fall."

"I-I'm sorry." Jack stuttered.

"Sherlock, you knew you couldn't keep her from having emotions." Mary sighed. "You tried that with yourself."

"I wanted her to be happy." He shook his head.

I just wanted her to be happier than I was.

* * *

><p><em>"Molly, where is she?" There was a blur streaking through the lab towards the woman at the opposite end.<em>

_"Where's who?"_

_"Molly! Where's Molly?!" He was looking under tables._

_"I-I-I'm right here." She stammered._

_"No, no, no!" He snapped, now on his hands and knees. "Not you."_

_"O-o-oh you mean your-"_

_"My daughter, yes." He was growing angry now, managing to hit his head as he jumped up to look her in the eyes did nothing to help the growing emotion._

_Truth be told, Molly had yet to get used to the fact that Sherlock had a daughter, let alone that he had named her "Molly." It was a new concept and it was more than a little difficult to swallow._

_"Well I mean she's not dead, so she wouldn't be here. W-w-would she?"_

_He gave her a warning look, jaw set, obviously irritated._

_"Don't joke, Molly. You're terrible at it."_

_She nodded her little nervous nod and he stared at her for a second more before looking to the floor again._

_"Right, well she can't have gotten far, she's only crawling and she only escaped mere moments ago."_

_And the search began._

* * *

><p><strong>AN-**

**Thank you so much for reading and such! I'm sorry it took so long to post this! I've been so busy! I'm in a concert at the Lincoln Center this coming weekend and ah! So busy!**

**The Truly Impossible Girl: awe thank you! :) I do try**

**Imp97: thank you!**

**M. Of The Mountains: goldfiiiiiiish! Yeah it's a little serious to be making in your own.**

**Shadows Concealed in Darkness: yeah well I mean he's walked out in sheets so XD only fair. Thank you :) I hope you love this one as well!**  
><strong>Ah yeah there's soooo many names. SO MANY. And mhmm 28 according to printed fanfiction by someone who decided to analyze Sherlock's, like the original Sherlock Holmes by Conan Doyle, childhood that was never described. **  
><strong>I tried looking for your story on Ur page and didn't see it : maybe I'm just crazy.**

**Yay!**  
><strong>Sorry it took so long again! Please review! :)<strong>

**Thank youuuuuuuuu**


	10. Chapter 10

_"Daddy...why does Jack call Aunt Mary 'mummy?'"_

_Sherlock's head snapped up and he turned to look at the little porcelain doll that was his daughter._

_"What's a 'mummy?'"_

_"A dead body from ancient Egypt that is wrapped in layers of—" He frowned at his daughter's expectant face. "Oh, alright. A mummy is someone who, a woman who...she just...she..." Truth be told, as intelligent as he was, he really did not know how to explain what a mother was. "It is another name for 'mother' which is what people have..." He was not ready for this conversation. "Um...when a 'mummy' and a 'daddy' do this thing...they...hold on." He ran over and picked her up, placing her on John's old chair, which was no longer John's old chair, but a brand new, light pink armchair that Molly had picked out when she was a very tiny baby. She just could not let go of it, even though the hand grasp was just instinctual on a baby's part, Mary had insisted that he purchase the thing. _

_Molly giggled, hugging the golden throw pillows to her chest as her father went off to call his friend._

_"She asked." Sherlock hissed into the phone._

_"She what?" John sounded confused. _

_"She wants to know, thanks to your son, what a 'mummy' is."_

_"Well she was bound to ask, at least she didn't ask who it was—"_

_"What do I tell her, John?" Sherlock was growing impatient, pulling hair, "That her 'mummy' hardly wanted her, let alone anything to do with her? That her 'mummy' had no intention of staying with her 'daddy' regardless of the situation? That I made a mistake and I got landed with her?"_

_"That you love her, very much." The line went dead._

_Ready to smash the phone in his frustration, the curly haired man resorted to placing it calmly on the counter and taking a few deep breaths. He returned to his daughter in the living room and sat down in his own chair across from her, his fingertips pressed together as he analyzed her expression._

_"Molly..." He stated, not at all in the voice one would typically use when speaking with a child. Then again, there was nothing typical about Sherlock Holmes. "Molly, I...I _love _you. I love you very much. I am your father, your 'daddy,' and I love you very, very much. There is a thing, a person, given the title 'mummy' by children. Each child has a different one, and sometimes they have several, though not by blood. It is a title. The title is given to a woman who has a child and it's given to her by her child. It is like a daddy, but it is a woman...so it gives birth to the baby...and feeds the baby...and—"_

_"But, daddy, you feed me!"_

_"No, no, no," He waved her comment off frustratedly, "Not like that, feeds you from the breast—"_

_"What's a breast, daddy—"_

_"Never mind that ok? I'm answering your question about mommy's! Why can't you focus?" He snapped, instantly regretting it at the tears in her eyes. "Oh, no, no, no, daddy didn't mean to get upset. Oh no, Molly, don't do...don't do that." He rushed to where she sat in the chair and held her hands._

_She sniffled._

_"Molly, the point is," His tone was soft, "You have a 'mummy' and she lives far away and she works and she makes a living and she's smart and beautiful and funny and she can't be here right now. I love you, and I'm your daddy. I'm just as important, I'm _more _important." He kissed her forehead and scooped her up. She snuggled into his arms. _

_"Ok."_

_"Ok. Good." Sherlock smiled as relief washed over him in a tidal wave. _

* * *

><em><em>

Sherlock was thinking back to the moment when Molly had first asked the startling question of what a mother was. He had been enough for her then, but his daughter had grown up, and he was severely lacking in the department of parenting as well as supportiveness.

"Molly, let me in." He said stiffly, knocking on the bedroom door for the fifth time in half and hour. This time, he brought tea. "I have tea."

"Personal space, da. What don't you get?"

"Molly—" The lock clicked and the door cracked open. There was nothing said and no one standing there, so he took it as his invitation into the room.

She stared at him from where she had reseated herself on the bed.

_Makeup. Mascara. Eyeliner. Tears. Wet. Shiny. Hair. Frizzy. Pulling at it. Nails bitten. Bags under eyes. Still dressed from dinner. Sweatshirt. Hiding. _

He tried to ignore the last part for the time being, but he resolved that he would go snooping later.

"Molly..."

"You were right. Ok? You were right." She motioned frantically, voice cracking, tears beginning again. "No one wants me. I wish I had never been born. I bet mom would have liked that. Scared of commitment, she could have stayed with you if I hadn't. You'd have been happier."

He took in a calm breath and shook his head.

"Molly, your mom wasn't...she...it wasn't commitment." He put the tea in her hands. "She was..."

She looked up at him expectantly.

"You have to understand, I am not lying. This was her chosen line of work. I don't hate her...I am not...this is true." He took a deep breath. "Molly, Irene Adler—that's your mother's true name—is a dominatrix. She currently runs her business of home-wrecking and manipulation in the United States of America."

The face before him paled, if it was even possible with a complexion as fair as hers.

"She is beautiful. She is smart. She is clever. She is sarcastic. She is funny. She is magnificent. She is terrible. She is idiotic. She is your mother. And she remains to be the only woman I have ever had any sort of relations with." Sherlock paused. "Molly, I...I don't know what to say to you. I know you know this all yourself. I know you waited years for me to tell you and I know you did your snooping, you never got things back in place perfectly, especially with the dust. I know you must have put pieces together and denied them. Molly, it's true. You are more intelligent than your mother can ever hope to be, and you should not doubt yourself."

His daughter sat before him, trembling in silence. He could see many things in her eyes. And there was one thing in particular that he did not like.

He could not bear to bring himself to say it.

So he resolved to call John and look for more evidence in the morning, or when she was asleep. But he knew he was right.

"So...I could have...I'm...my mother..."

"Molly, she doesn't matter." And he had to use John's advice on family matters from years long past. "I told you when you were little that I love you and I'm more important than her anyways." He sat down next to her. "I know you are growing up. I know that. I know you are going through things that scientifically make sense but will never make sense to me. I know that I am not what you need anymore. But, you...I don't know...Molly..."

"What did it feel like?" Her tears were falling again. "When mom left? What happened? How did you survive?"

He tensed up a little.

"I didn't..." And so he began to tell her the story of how he survived the agony that struck him when the only woman he ever seemed to have feelings for (to his own knowledge) left, and threatened to kill the life within her.

* * *

><p><em>"You have to be careful now, Sherlock." John warned. "She sees you like this, and she's going to be more prone to drug addiction. She could overdose. You could lose her anyways."<em>

_Sherlock was clenching his jaw to ignore the tremors he felt shaking his body like a series of continuous earthquakes rolled across his skin cells as if they were tectonic plates._

_"It was for a case."_

_"It was because this is the anniversary of the day she left and you thought you saw her across the street, looking at Molly." John snapped. "You are a grown man—"_

_"You-you _ass_." A woman came furiously storming in. "You are so lucky that I don't call some sort of someone to take that poor girl away. You are a_father _to another human being and all you can think about doing is getting high—"_

_"Molly, I swear, it's not like—" SLAP! His cheek stung as it had a number of years before when he had last been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Molly, please. Calm dow—" SLAP!_

_He was done for._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**SO SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE. I'm so busy right now with thespian-things. :/ I appreciate you all sticking by me!**

**CosmiQuorraHolmes: Thank you :) I appreciate that you sent some sort of review!**

**Imp97: I'm hoping you meant Molly like...Molly who just slapped him, Molly...unless you meant like...father-daughter moment...because I did that.**

**Shadows Concealed In Darkness: EEP! I try to be cute! lmao and yeah I can only imagine 7 siblings. I'm only 1/4 and that's not bad. my mom is the youngest of 16...and i like it :) i think i reviewed...if I didn't i apologize...i meant to...i'll have to go do that if i didn't. i also have to catch up on it, I've been gone for so long! i probably missed things...**

**Anon Goldfish: look who it is ;) the concert was great, no?**

**Guest: AH! I am now :3 so sorry!**

**SO SORRY AGAIN! AH! AND NOW THIS ONE IS SO SHORT, BUT YOU GUYS DESERVE AN UPDATE. IT'S SO BAD, TOO! I APOLOGIZE!**


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